


Keep the Change

by bookwyrmling



Category: Tennis no Oujisama | Prince of Tennis
Genre: Alternate Universe - Convenience Store, First Kiss, M/M, Meet-Cute, Troll-master Fuji strikes again
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-06
Updated: 2016-05-06
Packaged: 2018-06-06 17:46:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,871
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6763930
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bookwyrmling/pseuds/bookwyrmling
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tezuka Kunimitsu will never look at Sunday morning shifts the same way ever again.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Keep the Change

**Author's Note:**

> OTP Prompt fulfillment. Image-based prompt can be found here: http://otpprompts.tumblr.com/post/129075292867/person-a-works-as-the-cashier-and-person-b-enters

Sunday mornings were, overall, considered to be the worst shift. Nothing ever happened. The clerk could go hours without seeing a soul step inside the convenience store and the few who did were quick to grab what they need, pay and leave. There was minimal conversation and the phone never rang. Stock was dealt with by the evening shift and no deliveries were ever made on Sundays.

Sunday mornings were Tezuka’s favorite shift.

It was not that he was lazy. If anything, Tezuka ran such a tight shift that the store’s manager, Fuji, had started taking extra time off to pursue his photography hobby during the shifts Tezuka worked. No, the reason Tezuka liked Sunday mornings was because it gave him time to study. He could pull his statistics notes or economics textbook out and study or work on rough drafts of English papers or proofreading history essays.

The bell over the front door rang as it opened and Tezuka tucked his schoolwork away as his eyes slipped to the customer. “Welcome,” he offered with a nod of his head – Fuji had given up on telling him to smile when the elderly clients seemed to appreciate his sincerity and the younger ones stopped trying to sneak ChupaChups and the newest copy of _Jump_ past his stern stare. The customer, an admittedly attractive young man, maybe in high school or just out, sent a nod back in his direction before he began perusing the available bento.

Ryoma was hungry. Work had been stupid busy last night and he had passed out the moment he made it home and fed Karupin. When he woke up that morning, he had realized there was nothing in his refrigerator save a daikon, four cans of Ponta and a beer from the last time Momoshiro had stopped by after missing the last train. Not up for grocery shopping and cooking – there was no way his rumbling stomach would wait that long – he had grabbed a can of Ponta and left, still bleary-eyed, for the nearest convenience store.

The person at the counter had greeted him in an almost somber manner and Ryoma had simply nodded, figuring the employee was just as unhappy to here at work on a Sunday morning as he had been unhappy to be at his own job on a Saturday night. At least it wasn’t some smiling, perky high schooler yammering away at him in some hyped-up guise of customer service.

This store had a decent supply of bento, Ryoma had realized as he scanned the chilled shelves for whatever spoke the most to him before grabbing a standard three-pack of onigiri upon remembering he would have to go grocery shopping at some point today and he would need cash to do so. Walking up to the counter, Ryoma tossed the food on top and pulled out his wallet, only, as the clerk scanned it and gave him his total, Ryoma opened his wallet to find it empty save a torn piece of napkin with IOU scribbled in Momoshiro’s familiar hand. Ryoma’s fingers clenched around the fabric and his jaw ground, but just as he was about to invent his fifth way of killing the man in his mind, a sign attached to the register caught his attention.

_This business now accepts:_

It was not until he saw the fish on the Mastercard symbol that Ryoma realized it was not just a list of credit cards – which was good, because Ryoma did not have any credit cards – and he scanned the sign in silence, ignoring the bespectacled clerk as the gears in his mind finally began to kick into gear, greased and powered by the sugar and caffeine from his morning soda.

Most of the sign he had to skip over. It was not like he carried waffles around in his pocket, after all, and he certainly did not have the energy to catch a pigeon. A glance at the cashier told Ryoma the man was as lacking in facial hair as he was. For a moment, he looked to the vending machine outside. He might be able to scrounge up enough coins for a can of corn soup or oden, but the sign said several bowls were required and Ryoma did not have that much change to hunt out of his pockets. Sending one last glance at the sign, Ryoma sighed as he turned back to the clerk across the counter – his name tag read Tezuka – whose impatience he could tell was starting to wear thin.

At least he was attractive.

Tezuka did his best to have patience with the customer who was standing in silence, his wallet in his hands, staring at nothing, but it was hard. All that was needed to complete the transaction was for the dark-haired man to give him the money for it. It was not that difficult. Just as he was about to call out to the customer and remind him of the total, however, the young man sighed and put his wallet away. Wondering if he had changed his mind – that would be fine, too, so long as he stopped standing there, doing nothing – Tezuka was about to cancel the transaction when a hand reached out and grabbed onto his apron. Tezuka’s eyes widened in surprise behind his glasses as the slightly shorter man pulled him in and pressed their lips together.

Tezuka immediately froze.

His eyes widened in surprise, shoulders taught, spine locked in place, hands gripping onto the counter. The customer’s lips, plump but with a crack along the center of the bottom lip, opened against his own and something wet slipped through his own thin pursed lips and rubbed against his teeth.

_Tongue!!_ Tezuka realized in shock, his eyes slamming shut even as surprise had his jaw slackening – an opportunity the customer seemed more than happy to take advantage of.

Tezuka had never been kissed like this before. He had certainly never kissed anyone like this before, either. When he was younger, his mother had given him kisses to the top of his head or on scraped knees and elbows. In high school, he had dated a girl. They had studied together, walked home from school together. One rainstorm, they had even shared an umbrella. But they were only in high school and anything more had seemed improper and irresponsible. Besides, she received a recommendation for a teaching university in Hokkaido whereas Tezuka had remained in Tokyo. Things had ended mutually and comfortably between them with one chaste kiss after graduation.

There had certainly been no tongue involved. His knees had not begun to shake and feel weak, he had not heard his pulse in his ears and he had not had to fight the desire to reach out and draw her in. Not like he did now with this person whose name he did not even know.

The kiss ended when the customer pulled away, licking his lips and smirking and Tezuka could only stand there, glasses askew, his apron crumpled and the shirt underneath a mess, as the young man grabbed the onigiri off the counter and walked towards the exit. “Keep the change,” he grinned before opening the door and walking out. It was only as the bell rang with the door closing again that Tezuka remembered one very important thing.

“Sir! You forgot to pay!” he called out, running around the counter and throwing the door open. No matter which way he looked along the street, however, the dark-haired, golden-eyed person was nowhere to be seen. The owner of the flower shop next door – a middle-aged woman – stared at him in surprise and Tezuka realized how much of a mess he looked. Adjusting his glasses, he bowed in apology for disturbing the woman and stepped back inside. Tezuka sighed as he tugged at the wrinkles in his apron and looked back out the window to the street. That was the first time someone had stolen from him. He had let his guard down since Sunday mornings were usually such easy shifts. He would not let that happen again.

As he walked back to the counter, however, a sign he did not remember being there before was attached to the guest’s side of the register. With a frown, Tezuka walked up to it, recognizing a few of the credit card symbols and remembering Fuji had mentioned they were going to try accepting some new forms of payment to increase business opportunities.

Visa they had always taken. American Express and MasterCard – he would have to point out the odd spelling error to Fuji – would be new. But then he hit the fourth payment option and his frown deepened. Waffles? That was not any form of payment Tezuka knew of. As in the sweet breakfast food item? Maybe it was a foreign company and new to the Japanese market? The fifth option, however, told Tezuka that was not the case and he barely restrained himself as he tore the sign off the register.

_OpenMouth Kisses._

Manager or not, Tezuka was going to kill Fuji.

**Omake**

The next Sunday morning, Tezuka looked up from his untranslated copy of _The Canterbury Tales_ ’s title page – the same one he had been staring at since he pulled the book out a half hour ago – when the door rang only to find that same attractive customer from the week before. He walked over to the refrigerated section, grabbed a three-pack of onigiri and swaggered up to the stand with a smirk.

Tezuka’s palms were pressed against the countertop, sweaty, his body on edge and nerves tingling like the one time he had come across a wild boar while mountain climbing with his university’s circle. His fingers twitched with the packaged food hit the counter.

“I don’t think I introduced myself last week,” the customer spoke and the voice was just as melodic and humorously pitched as Tezuka remembered it. “Echizen Ryoma, I live a few blocks away. You’re Tezuka, yes?”

Tezuka nodded and rang up the onigiri. “Your total is twelve hundred yen,” he informed, glad he at least could control his voice and appearance even if his heart was racing in expectation.

Ryoma smirked and eyed the register before leaning over the counter on his elbows, not even taking his wallet out this time. Tezuka swallowed, but did not mirror the action and Ryoma laughed before picking the sign off the register and holding it up. “The manager told me it had been a one time joke last week and that it had already been taken down,” he said as he placed the sign down on the counter and sent golden eyes glowing in challenge back up at Tezuka’s stoic face. While it had not budged an inch, he felt his stomach falling through the floor, the ground, down past the Earth’s crust and into the molten mantle, setting it on fire with embarrassment as Ryoma reached out and grabbed hold of his apron once again. Tezuka did not try to pull away.

“If you wanted to kiss me again,” the customer – Echizen, Ryoma, at this point Tezuka was not sure what to call him – grinned, “all you had to do was say so.”


End file.
